Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Nariku - A Weekend With The Maasai PART 1
Early Saturday morning we left Moshi with a group of 11 CCS volunteers, the 4 Maasai Moja guys, and two drivers. As our two minibuses hightailed it to Arusha we were treated to a view of Mount Kilimanjaro that was the prettiest any of us had seen so far, and some of the volunteers have been here for two months. Our drivers were nice enough to pull over onto the side of the road and let us take a few pictures. 
When we arrived in Arusha for a shopping stop, a few of us went to a coffee shop called Stiggbuck’s right around the corner for a pick-me-up. My iced coffee wasn’t too tasty but it did the trick. The group went to a nearby market to shop for gifts for the Maasai while the guys loaded up the minivans with camping equipment. The market was full of leeches trying to get us to come into their stall and buy whatever they had so my mom and I quickly got out of there. Our patience for parasitic salesmen was rather minimal. As soon as they see us wazungu (plural of mzungu=white person/foreigner) coming they get dollar signs in their eyes. It’s understandable.
Groceries at Shop-Rite were next, and this market was a nice surprise. A big, well lit supermarket with shopping carts, aisles, and checkout lines. It’s the first one I’ve been in since I got here. I heard at least 4 different languages while walking around the store, German, British English, Japanese, and oddly enough, Quebec French. A couple walked past me while I was looking for something on the shelves and I heard the distinct ring of Quebecois. I said hello and they were as surprised to hear me as I was to hear them. We got ourselves some cheese, cereal (both of which are real mzungu food) peanuts, juice, coffee, and a few other things. I got 4 six packs of Tusker beer, two beers were for me and the rest was for our guides and the Maasai elders. Since I’ve been here I’ve collected labels off of Tanzanian beer bottles that I like in the hopes that when I get home I can have our favorite liquor store order some so I can share with friends and family. If they can’t, it still makes a neat souvenir.
We left Arusha after shopping and stopped at Meserani Snake Park for lunch about 45 minutes later. It was a beautiful place to have lunch, and for 10 bucks we got admission to the snake park where we saw cobras, black and green mambas, pythons, a monitor lizard, a few alligators, and much more. We even got to wrap a small, docile snake around our necks for a cool snapshot. Also included in the 10 bucks was a visit to the neighboring Maasai museum, where a chubby Maasai (this is rare!) guide explained the basics of their culture, including how they dress and why, ear stretching, circumcision, the importance of their livestock, and the roles of men and women at each stage in their lives. At the end of the tour, the guide noticed my ears, as I was wearing my new Maasai earrings for the weekend, and motioned me over to him. He put his finger through the hole in my earlobe, as if to see if it was real, and then burst out laughing! He couldn’t believe it. He took out one of his beautiful copper ear weights and put it in my ear – I don’t know if it was a ploy to sell me some from the gift shop, or if he just wanted to show me, but I bought some anyway. They sell the ear weights as necklaces for the tourists, but I got a small deal since I had to buy two of them for a set of earrings... They were pretty cheap to begin with anyway. They’re a bit heavy, but really nice. There were camel rides at the park as well but I really didn’t feel like riding around in the hot sun on a camel.
After Meserani we were finally on our way to the Maasai village. The roads out there are difficult to navigate. I believe they’re in the process of widening the only road into the village and at the moment it’s very rocky and bumpy, and there’s barely any room for two vehicles to pass one another. Luckily we had a good driver who got us there safely.
A stop at the Maasai market was the last thing before the village. There were hundreds of Maasai selling everything from produce to blankets to jewelry, and walking among them with my hair down but with my earrings still visible was quite an experience. Heads turned everywhere, some people followed me, and then a few women selling bracelets motioned me over to them. With John translating, they asked me “who did this?” and I explained to them that I had stretched my earlobes myself. Again I was labeled a “mzungu Maasai”, and the women all shook my hand and happily laughed. I quickly found myself in the middle of 30 some people, some looking in amazement, some touching my ears to see if it was real. All of them seemed happy, so I thought perhaps I could be lucky enough to get a photo with them. As expected, they wanted 500 shillings a piece for a picture, and while it may have been well worth 15 bucks to get a picture with all these beautiful women, I didn’t feel like paying, so no photo. I did manage to sneak a couple of snapshots as we were leaving, after I bought two Maasai blankets to take home. The 11 people in our group were rather surprised at what a hit I was at the market.
I managed to sneak this snapshot as we were leaving.
We arrived in the Maasai village around 3 pm. The guys immediately started pitching the tents, and the women and men were quickly brought into huts to be dressed in Maasai clothes. After I was dressed by Naishiye, one of Mama Paolo’s daughters, her sister slipped a bracelet onto my wrist and said “for you”. It’s a beautiful beaded bracelet, and I later noticed that the village chief Iboo (ee-bow) was wearing an identical one.
After dressing and playing with the kids for a while we all went for a walk up the hill behind the Boma. Nabulu, another of Mama Paolo’s daughters, who happens to be the girl who first spotted my stretched ears last time, walked with me, and asked me to help her with English. During the entire walk we pointed to things and I told her the English names for them. She’s a sweet girl who wants to learn everything she can. In exchange for my English lesson she taught me some pretty Swahili songs that we sang all the way back to the Boma. At the end of the walk, in broken English, she hugged me and said “I love you”.
We watched the stunning sunset while waiting for dinner, and I was formally introduced to Iboo, who was glad to meet Bibi’s daughter as he likes my mother very much. He admired my ears and put his hands on my face in a very affectionate way. Here is a photo of us:
That night, after another gourmet meal of Solomon’s, the festivities began. The men jumped and sang their guttural songs, the women danced with their large necklaces bouncing on their shoulders, and my mom and I were given Maasai names by Iboo’s nephew, Jackson, who speaks more English than anyone in the village. Mine is Nariku, which is the Maasai word for “grace”. My mother is Nashipai, the Maasai word for “luck”.
After he gave us our names, I had him look up at the stars. “Did you know there’s a moran in the sky?” I asked. A moran is a Maasai warrior, the most revered Maasai group. He looked at me, incredulous, and asked, “What do you mean?”
He must have thought I was crazy for a moment. I took his hand in mine and, star by star, pointed out Orion, who happened to be directly above our heads. Still in awe, he showed all the other men who were standing nearby and everyone sighed in amazement as they looked up at the majestic moran in the sky. “Orion is watching over us,” Jackson said, all smiles. Good thing I have a husband who teaches me about stars.
The beer was distributed amongst the elders during that time. Anthony brought me over to them because he said they wanted to thank me for bringing them drinks, and as I received a many strong handshakes and thank yous I saw a very stoic old man, sitting in a chair off to the side, wave me over to him. I walked over, leaned in with my head (which is the proper way to greet elders), and he put both hands on it and lifted my face up to see me. With the emotionally charged primal singing in the background he placed both hands on my face, examined my ears, and smiled broadly. He helped me up, shook my hand, and warmly said “ashenale”, Maasai for “thank you very much”. I had just met the head chief, of all the Bomas in the village. As far as I know I’m the only one he greeted like this. A little beer goes a long way!
Unfortunately I have no pictures of the Maasai dancing. While it took place next to a large bonfire, it was still pitch black and nothing was coming out. Not to mention the fact that almost everyone in the village wants to see every picture you take, so I was afraid of dropping my camera or having someone grab it too roughly.
Instead, I danced with them. I enjoyed the moment rather than worrying about documenting it, and because of that I have indelible memories that will forever make me smile. I did manage to sneak my digital voice recorder into the group for a while, and got 7 minutes of the group’s singing to take home with me. Rain ended the party at 11:30, which is probably a good thing because otherwise they would have kept going until the wee hours of the morning... Rain is also sorely needed in that area at the moment, so we were glad to see it come, and crawl into our tents for the night.
The next morning we saw for ourselves just how much of a problem drought is for these people when the women from our group went along with a few Maasai to fetch water. It was a mile long walk. The water hole is filthy. This water is used for everything from cleaning to cooking to drinking. Jackson explained to us that before drinking the water they boil it and treat it with Maasai traditional medicine, a root from a plant whose name he did not know in English. I can’t believe it could possibly be enough of a treatment to make it safe. The water hole is muddy and dangerous. 10 year old Nabulu fell in a week ago and nearly drowned. They used to have a pump, but it broke quickly and was an inefficient system to start out with.
Here is the water hole – on the second picture you can see how muddy it is. Anthony and Gabi, two of the Maasai Moja crew, took care of getting water from the hole so that no one would get hurt. The woman you see in the first picture was from another Boma. She was old, and it was difficult to watch her struggle.
On the way back, a few donkeys carried the full buckets. The rest of us had buckets that were a bit over half full, carrying them either by hand or on our heads. My many years of classical ballet training surely helped me carry mine on my head. For my little Maasai sister Nabulu, with me on this picture, it was a piece of cake.
There are two other water holes as well, but one is dry and the other is even filthier than this one. On the way back, my mother went to see one of the men in our group, a civil engineer from Toronto, and took him to see the water hole. He believes that there is a large water table much closer to the village and that digging a well with a solar powered pump is a feasible option. When they returned we had a village meeting with the elders, and the engineer explained to them what would need to be done to get them clean water and what exactly they would need to do to keep it clean. The most important thing is to keep livestock far away from it in order to avoid contaminating the water supply, which is a difficult concept for them. Their cattle graze freely; there are no fences anywhere near the Maasai. However, the elders understood the necessity of it and are willing to figure out a system. A few of the young men will also need to be trained in basic maintenance and repairs. You can’t just call a repairman to come and fix your well when you live in such an isolated area.
We’re working on contacting the Canadian Embassy in Dar Es Salaam to find out what kind of funding would be available from them for a project of this sort. It seems a solar powered pump would be the most effective mechanism for this project, but we have to find out just where we can find one. The engineer estimated the cost of a project of this sort would be between $8000 and $10 000. If we can get the government to pay for the solar pump, the rest of the money could be relatively easy to find. If everyone we know gave five measly bucks, an entire village could enjoy a healthier, happier life. We’re going to coordinate a trip to Arusha to meet with some well-diggers in the next week or two to get a more precise estimate, and write to the Canadian Embassy as soon as possible to inform them of this project. It would be so nice to be able to get this going in the next few weeks.
We had lunch after the meeting and while we ate, the Maasai kids rummaged through the trash in search of anything edible. They licked candy bar wrappers from the day before, wolfed down leftover pieces of chicken from our dinner, and fought over whatever they found. I couldn’t finish my lunch. I felt guilty for eating while children nearby were scrounging for scraps.
After lunch there was a goat sacrifice. It’s customary for the Maasai to do this on special occasions, so whenever a group of wazungu visits, the tour guides buy a goat for the Boma. I thought I would be squeamish but I wasn’t at all. It was done as humanely as possible and the men expertly dissected it without wasting a single drop of blood or piece of meat. They eat EVERY part of it. It helped to know that because of this there would be some extra food for them to eat. We then had a lecture on Maasai culture and traditional medicine. It was very instructive.
One of the guys in our group had a box of peanut butter Nature Valley bars that was almost full. Before leaving, he gave it to the Maasai for the children, who each had half or one-third of a bar. Here they are lined up waiting for their treats. Jackson is the one on the right, handing them out.
¶ 2/28/2006 06:45:00 AM
When we arrived in Arusha for a shopping stop, a few of us went to a coffee shop called Stiggbuck’s right around the corner for a pick-me-up. My iced coffee wasn’t too tasty but it did the trick. The group went to a nearby market to shop for gifts for the Maasai while the guys loaded up the minivans with camping equipment. The market was full of leeches trying to get us to come into their stall and buy whatever they had so my mom and I quickly got out of there. Our patience for parasitic salesmen was rather minimal. As soon as they see us wazungu (plural of mzungu=white person/foreigner) coming they get dollar signs in their eyes. It’s understandable.
Groceries at Shop-Rite were next, and this market was a nice surprise. A big, well lit supermarket with shopping carts, aisles, and checkout lines. It’s the first one I’ve been in since I got here. I heard at least 4 different languages while walking around the store, German, British English, Japanese, and oddly enough, Quebec French. A couple walked past me while I was looking for something on the shelves and I heard the distinct ring of Quebecois. I said hello and they were as surprised to hear me as I was to hear them. We got ourselves some cheese, cereal (both of which are real mzungu food) peanuts, juice, coffee, and a few other things. I got 4 six packs of Tusker beer, two beers were for me and the rest was for our guides and the Maasai elders. Since I’ve been here I’ve collected labels off of Tanzanian beer bottles that I like in the hopes that when I get home I can have our favorite liquor store order some so I can share with friends and family. If they can’t, it still makes a neat souvenir.
We left Arusha after shopping and stopped at Meserani Snake Park for lunch about 45 minutes later. It was a beautiful place to have lunch, and for 10 bucks we got admission to the snake park where we saw cobras, black and green mambas, pythons, a monitor lizard, a few alligators, and much more. We even got to wrap a small, docile snake around our necks for a cool snapshot. Also included in the 10 bucks was a visit to the neighboring Maasai museum, where a chubby Maasai (this is rare!) guide explained the basics of their culture, including how they dress and why, ear stretching, circumcision, the importance of their livestock, and the roles of men and women at each stage in their lives. At the end of the tour, the guide noticed my ears, as I was wearing my new Maasai earrings for the weekend, and motioned me over to him. He put his finger through the hole in my earlobe, as if to see if it was real, and then burst out laughing! He couldn’t believe it. He took out one of his beautiful copper ear weights and put it in my ear – I don’t know if it was a ploy to sell me some from the gift shop, or if he just wanted to show me, but I bought some anyway. They sell the ear weights as necklaces for the tourists, but I got a small deal since I had to buy two of them for a set of earrings... They were pretty cheap to begin with anyway. They’re a bit heavy, but really nice. There were camel rides at the park as well but I really didn’t feel like riding around in the hot sun on a camel.
After Meserani we were finally on our way to the Maasai village. The roads out there are difficult to navigate. I believe they’re in the process of widening the only road into the village and at the moment it’s very rocky and bumpy, and there’s barely any room for two vehicles to pass one another. Luckily we had a good driver who got us there safely.
A stop at the Maasai market was the last thing before the village. There were hundreds of Maasai selling everything from produce to blankets to jewelry, and walking among them with my hair down but with my earrings still visible was quite an experience. Heads turned everywhere, some people followed me, and then a few women selling bracelets motioned me over to them. With John translating, they asked me “who did this?” and I explained to them that I had stretched my earlobes myself. Again I was labeled a “mzungu Maasai”, and the women all shook my hand and happily laughed. I quickly found myself in the middle of 30 some people, some looking in amazement, some touching my ears to see if it was real. All of them seemed happy, so I thought perhaps I could be lucky enough to get a photo with them. As expected, they wanted 500 shillings a piece for a picture, and while it may have been well worth 15 bucks to get a picture with all these beautiful women, I didn’t feel like paying, so no photo. I did manage to sneak a couple of snapshots as we were leaving, after I bought two Maasai blankets to take home. The 11 people in our group were rather surprised at what a hit I was at the market.
I managed to sneak this snapshot as we were leaving.We arrived in the Maasai village around 3 pm. The guys immediately started pitching the tents, and the women and men were quickly brought into huts to be dressed in Maasai clothes. After I was dressed by Naishiye, one of Mama Paolo’s daughters, her sister slipped a bracelet onto my wrist and said “for you”. It’s a beautiful beaded bracelet, and I later noticed that the village chief Iboo (ee-bow) was wearing an identical one.
After dressing and playing with the kids for a while we all went for a walk up the hill behind the Boma. Nabulu, another of Mama Paolo’s daughters, who happens to be the girl who first spotted my stretched ears last time, walked with me, and asked me to help her with English. During the entire walk we pointed to things and I told her the English names for them. She’s a sweet girl who wants to learn everything she can. In exchange for my English lesson she taught me some pretty Swahili songs that we sang all the way back to the Boma. At the end of the walk, in broken English, she hugged me and said “I love you”.
We watched the stunning sunset while waiting for dinner, and I was formally introduced to Iboo, who was glad to meet Bibi’s daughter as he likes my mother very much. He admired my ears and put his hands on my face in a very affectionate way. Here is a photo of us: That night, after another gourmet meal of Solomon’s, the festivities began. The men jumped and sang their guttural songs, the women danced with their large necklaces bouncing on their shoulders, and my mom and I were given Maasai names by Iboo’s nephew, Jackson, who speaks more English than anyone in the village. Mine is Nariku, which is the Maasai word for “grace”. My mother is Nashipai, the Maasai word for “luck”.
After he gave us our names, I had him look up at the stars. “Did you know there’s a moran in the sky?” I asked. A moran is a Maasai warrior, the most revered Maasai group. He looked at me, incredulous, and asked, “What do you mean?”
He must have thought I was crazy for a moment. I took his hand in mine and, star by star, pointed out Orion, who happened to be directly above our heads. Still in awe, he showed all the other men who were standing nearby and everyone sighed in amazement as they looked up at the majestic moran in the sky. “Orion is watching over us,” Jackson said, all smiles. Good thing I have a husband who teaches me about stars.
The beer was distributed amongst the elders during that time. Anthony brought me over to them because he said they wanted to thank me for bringing them drinks, and as I received a many strong handshakes and thank yous I saw a very stoic old man, sitting in a chair off to the side, wave me over to him. I walked over, leaned in with my head (which is the proper way to greet elders), and he put both hands on it and lifted my face up to see me. With the emotionally charged primal singing in the background he placed both hands on my face, examined my ears, and smiled broadly. He helped me up, shook my hand, and warmly said “ashenale”, Maasai for “thank you very much”. I had just met the head chief, of all the Bomas in the village. As far as I know I’m the only one he greeted like this. A little beer goes a long way!
Unfortunately I have no pictures of the Maasai dancing. While it took place next to a large bonfire, it was still pitch black and nothing was coming out. Not to mention the fact that almost everyone in the village wants to see every picture you take, so I was afraid of dropping my camera or having someone grab it too roughly.
Instead, I danced with them. I enjoyed the moment rather than worrying about documenting it, and because of that I have indelible memories that will forever make me smile. I did manage to sneak my digital voice recorder into the group for a while, and got 7 minutes of the group’s singing to take home with me. Rain ended the party at 11:30, which is probably a good thing because otherwise they would have kept going until the wee hours of the morning... Rain is also sorely needed in that area at the moment, so we were glad to see it come, and crawl into our tents for the night.
The next morning we saw for ourselves just how much of a problem drought is for these people when the women from our group went along with a few Maasai to fetch water. It was a mile long walk. The water hole is filthy. This water is used for everything from cleaning to cooking to drinking. Jackson explained to us that before drinking the water they boil it and treat it with Maasai traditional medicine, a root from a plant whose name he did not know in English. I can’t believe it could possibly be enough of a treatment to make it safe. The water hole is muddy and dangerous. 10 year old Nabulu fell in a week ago and nearly drowned. They used to have a pump, but it broke quickly and was an inefficient system to start out with.
Here is the water hole – on the second picture you can see how muddy it is. Anthony and Gabi, two of the Maasai Moja crew, took care of getting water from the hole so that no one would get hurt. The woman you see in the first picture was from another Boma. She was old, and it was difficult to watch her struggle.
On the way back, a few donkeys carried the full buckets. The rest of us had buckets that were a bit over half full, carrying them either by hand or on our heads. My many years of classical ballet training surely helped me carry mine on my head. For my little Maasai sister Nabulu, with me on this picture, it was a piece of cake.
There are two other water holes as well, but one is dry and the other is even filthier than this one. On the way back, my mother went to see one of the men in our group, a civil engineer from Toronto, and took him to see the water hole. He believes that there is a large water table much closer to the village and that digging a well with a solar powered pump is a feasible option. When they returned we had a village meeting with the elders, and the engineer explained to them what would need to be done to get them clean water and what exactly they would need to do to keep it clean. The most important thing is to keep livestock far away from it in order to avoid contaminating the water supply, which is a difficult concept for them. Their cattle graze freely; there are no fences anywhere near the Maasai. However, the elders understood the necessity of it and are willing to figure out a system. A few of the young men will also need to be trained in basic maintenance and repairs. You can’t just call a repairman to come and fix your well when you live in such an isolated area.
We’re working on contacting the Canadian Embassy in Dar Es Salaam to find out what kind of funding would be available from them for a project of this sort. It seems a solar powered pump would be the most effective mechanism for this project, but we have to find out just where we can find one. The engineer estimated the cost of a project of this sort would be between $8000 and $10 000. If we can get the government to pay for the solar pump, the rest of the money could be relatively easy to find. If everyone we know gave five measly bucks, an entire village could enjoy a healthier, happier life. We’re going to coordinate a trip to Arusha to meet with some well-diggers in the next week or two to get a more precise estimate, and write to the Canadian Embassy as soon as possible to inform them of this project. It would be so nice to be able to get this going in the next few weeks.
We had lunch after the meeting and while we ate, the Maasai kids rummaged through the trash in search of anything edible. They licked candy bar wrappers from the day before, wolfed down leftover pieces of chicken from our dinner, and fought over whatever they found. I couldn’t finish my lunch. I felt guilty for eating while children nearby were scrounging for scraps.
After lunch there was a goat sacrifice. It’s customary for the Maasai to do this on special occasions, so whenever a group of wazungu visits, the tour guides buy a goat for the Boma. I thought I would be squeamish but I wasn’t at all. It was done as humanely as possible and the men expertly dissected it without wasting a single drop of blood or piece of meat. They eat EVERY part of it. It helped to know that because of this there would be some extra food for them to eat. We then had a lecture on Maasai culture and traditional medicine. It was very instructive.
One of the guys in our group had a box of peanut butter Nature Valley bars that was almost full. Before leaving, he gave it to the Maasai for the children, who each had half or one-third of a bar. Here they are lined up waiting for their treats. Jackson is the one on the right, handing them out.¶ 2/28/2006 06:45:00 AM
